


From Cinder to Embers, from Flame to Blaze

by MarcellaDix



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cinderella Elements, Drunkenness, F/M, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Nudity, Thestrals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 08:46:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11101053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcellaDix/pseuds/MarcellaDix
Summary: Hermione attends the Potters' Hallowe'en party as a particular princess, her costume perfected and authentic down to the minutest detail. When the night ends with her escorting a drunken Prince Charming home, will the spell end or might the actual magic only then begin? - Cinderella-inspired one-shot full of fluffiness.





	From Cinder to Embers, from Flame to Blaze

Ever since Sirius Black had been expelled from the Veil on All Hallows' Eve in the year 1998, he celebrated each and every Hallowe'en as if it would be his last. Five years after his rebirth, as Sirius himself liked to call the event, the 31st of October found him leaned, piss-drunk, onto his godson's shoulder.

Harry, Hermione could see, was no longer amused by that fact. Much as her best friend loved his godfather, the hour was late, most of the Potters' guests had already left, and the hosts themselves were more than ready to head to bed themselves, to celebrate the night once more in private.

Stumbling over to where she was chatting with a slightly inebriated Ginny, Harry pushed and shoved at the drunken man hanging on his shoulder until he stood leaned against the wall, always on the brink of falling down with his dangerous swaying.

"Listen, 'Mione," Harry began, and Hermione did not need him to continue to know what he would be asking of her, "I hate to do this to you, but would you mind –"

Hermione shushed him.

"Think nothing of it," she promised, "I'll get the giant man-child home."

Harry shot her a grateful look and was about to answer her, when Sirius spoke up.

"Why, hello there, princess," he slurred, "might I come into your castle?"

Hermione tensed a little, her lip curling in distaste, and she scoffed at the drunken man.

"Charming," she assessed with a strongly sarcastic tone on her voice that was completely lost on her charmer.

Somehow, her one-word-rejection had Ginny in fits of giggles. At the confused looks shot to her by her husband and his best friend, she laughed even harder, though she was obviously trying to reign in her amusement in order to explain. Her shortness of breath made that endeavour a little difficult, though.

"Charming," she repeated eventually, still giggling, though at least able to speak now through gasping breaths. "Cinderella and her Prince Charming!"

Hermione scowled even more when Harry understood the joke and joined Ginny in her laughter. Regretting ever having taught Ginny about muggle fairytales and cursing Harry for indulging his wife in plenty of Disney movies, Hermione looked down at herself. Truly, she had taken her costume to a whole new level. With the war long over, Hermione had selected to don the image of Gryffindor princess for herself this Hallowe'en, no longer bowing to the insult her Slytherin schoolmates had intended it to be at the time, but twisting and turning it until she shone bright as a star in her glamorous evening gown. The Second Wizarding War had demanded many victims, and at times it had seemed as if the world itself was burning down around them. Only the most fortunate rose from the ashes afterwards. Their survival had little to do with skill, or resilience, or fortitude, or power. Most often, their survival had been the result of pure luck, and Hermione counted herself most lucky indeed.

Never having been officially inducted into the Order, Hermione decided against rising from the ashes like a Phoenix, a symbol of hope in the immediate aftermath of the war. No, Hermione had bid her time and only today, more than five years after the Final Battle, rose as a princess – Cinderella, in every sense of the word.

"Come now, Charming," Hermione gave up and into the amusement of her friends, hauling Sirius's arm over her shoulders so that she might drag him out of the Potters' house, "your carriage awaits. Let's get you home."

A few more assurances of gratitude later, and she was finally out on the street, a drunken Sirius in tow. Harry had bought a new house at the outer edges of Godric's Hollow, and had asked Ginny to move in with him. The question had been accompanied by a rather gaudy ring, and together the Potters lived a happy life in the wizarding town of Harry's ancestors.

Hermione led Sirius around the house, stumbling under his weight but pulling him along anyway, until they reached the backyard. There, waiting for them, stood eight horses. Their skeletal bodies, leathery wings, and reptilian features clearly marked them for the Thestrals that they were. Nipping Hermione's hand as she reached out to them, she stroked their muzzles for a bit, until asking them politely to don their harnesses.

Up until then, Sirius had appeared rather unfazed by the unusual sight. Thestrals weren't often seen out of Hogwarts, and Hermione had had some serious convincing to do to beg them off of Hagrid for the night. When the eight eerily beautiful beasts good-naturedly trod over to the glistering glass carriage and twisted themselves into their harnesses, however, Sirius broke out of his drunken stupor.

"A carriage," he exclaimed, his voice still largely slurred, "an actual carriage!"

He pointed to the rather spherical glass structure, looking at Hermione with big eyes, as if to make sure she had seen the curious thing. As a matter of fact, Hermione had seen the glass carriage – after all, she had been the one to take costuming rather over the top tonight, and had transfigured it from one of Hagrid's larger pumpkins.

Shoving Sirius towards the door of the carriage, Hermione walked along the Thestrals, caressing their beaks and stroking their leathery wings while making sure that their harnesses were secure and tight, without constricting the beasts too much.

Satisfied that everything was in order, she turned to the animals, addressing them.

"Thank you for bringing me here tonight and for waiting patiently for my return. Once more, I must ask a favour of you, if you will forgive me." She paused for a moment, then – seeing one of the Thestrals at the foremost position of the carriage incline their head towards her – continued. "Please escort me and Sirius to number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London. Since we are going into such a densely populated area, I would ask you to allow me to Disillusion you. Would that be acceptable?"

Another inclination, this time from more than one Thestral, and Hermione sighed in relief.

"Thank you," she said, and with feeling.

Casting the charm over the eight beasts, she joined Sirius in the carriage. A second after the door closed behind her, they jolted into motion. A few hundred yards later, and they were up in the air.

Sirius seemed to be in and out of it at times, though more often out than in. It was all the same to the princess sitting beside him. He was far easier to deal with when sleeping, and she did not need to fear him spewing all over the glass structure surrounding them (and all over herself) from the flight when he did not even notice they were in the air most of the time. It gave Hermione the time and opportunity to enjoy the flight.

She had now spent more than half her life as a witch, yet rarely had she felt more magical than tonight. With her beautiful ball gown, her glass shoes, the flying carriage, and the fantastical beasts pulling it, there was no way she could have felt more like a princess.

Alas, the flight was over too soon. Pulling into the Black manor backyard with precision, the Thestrals gently brought the carriage down, only slightly jostling its occupants. Resolving to make her own way home, rather than inconvenience the loyal animals any more tonight, Hermione released them from their harnesses. They could have done so themselves, she knew, but they allowed her to show her gratitude in softly spoken words and gentle caresses as she loosened the strings that bound the carriage to them. When they were all free, they gave her one last, long look, then took off into the air, swiftly vanishing into the darkness that was giving way to the dawning sun.

Seeing that Sirius was in no condition to make his way all the floors up to his bed, Hermione unwarded the backdoor and searched the kitchen for some Sober Up potion. Back at the drunken man's side, on the bench inside the carriage, she tipped his head back and worked his throat so that he would swallow the medicine she was pouring into his mouth.

Coming to, Sirius shook his head, as if fashionably mussing his hair thus would restore his countenance, and wiped his chin of the few dribbles that had spilled there. Only then did his gaze focus on the young woman next to him.

"Hermione?" he asked, his eyes going wide as he fully took in her outfit. "How did we get here?"

Hermione scoffed.

"I dragged your drunken arse into my carriage, and eight Disillusioned Thestrals flew us into your backyard," she deadpanned, "how else would we get here?"

Sirius's eyes narrowed, as if uncertain whether to believe her or not. The changed expression in his gaze told Hermione that he must have come to a decision, for he made to speak. Before he could utter a single syllable, though, the sun broke over the horizon.

"Quickly," Hermione shut off whatever the man sitting next to her had been about to say, "we must get out of here."

"What?" Sirius asked. "What are you – No, wait a moment, I think I know who you –"

Before he could babble on, Hermione grabbed Sirius by the collar and, throwing herself out the carriage door, pulled him forcefully with her.

It was just in time, too. Before their eyes, just inches from where their feet lay pointing at the glass structure, the carriage shrunk. Getting smaller and smaller, it changed in shape as well, the perfect roundness giving way to a rather bumpy oval form that became more and more orange, the colour growing in opacity, until all that was left was a giant pumpkin.

"That's – that's –"

Even though the man was no longer drunk, his ability to form coherent sentences had not improved at all, Hermione thought to herself.

"Magic," she supplied, more than a little sarcastic.

At hearing the witch beside him speak, Sirius's eyes broke away from the wondrous pumpkin to fix Hermione under his gaze instead. When his eyes grew wide, the young woman realized her mistake.

In a fit of audacious poetical inclination, Hermione had opted to attend the ball in the nude. All she had donned were a couple of fig leaves in the most critical places, thinking herself quite clever and, most of all, daring. Transfiguring the leaves into the ball gown they were for most of the evening – layers and layers of soft, transparent fabric that added up to a bluish silver colour, the train trailing behind her, the skirts whirling around her, the corset shaping her rather smallish boobs into some remarkable globes – had been difficult at first, but with some practice had come easy enough for her.

That same poetical inclination, however, had inspired Hermione to set a timer on the charms that she had used to transfigure her gown, shoes, and carriage. Instead of using midnight, though – for honestly, they weren't twelve anymore! –, she had timed the spells to revert at the first rays of the rising sun.

So the costume she was wearing now was less that of Cinderella and more that of Eve – meaning, Hermione was lying beside a now-sober Sirius in her birthday suit.

His eyes turned from steely slate to molten silver. The heat they expressed had Hermione shiver. Trailing his gaze from her toes up to her eyes, Sirius assessed her body like she had never been assessed before. Instead of recoiling from the man and covering her nudity in embarrassment, Hermione felt strangely… emboldened.

"Fancy," Sirius eventually judged, "far fancier than the dress. Kinky, as well; definitely kinky. And most definitely," at that he leaned closer to her, "more magical than the pumpkin carriage."

Hermione blushed furiously. Her whole body felt ablaze under the heated compliment. The worst part was that Sirius had never seemed more sincere to her than he did in that exact moment.

Finding her voice, however small, Hermione said, "This wasn't supposed to be kinky. I just – I just kind of wanted to live the fairytale, just for one night, and one night only. I would have made it home in time, as well, if you hadn't decided to get yourself drunk, and if Harry hadn't asked me to take you to bed, and –"

If she didn't notice her mistake, Sirius was quick to point it out to her.

"You're supposed to take me to bed?"

Hermione groaned.

"No," she backpaddled, but it was too late, "that's not what I meant, I just –"

"Good," the wizard cut her off. "Because there is nothing I want more right now than to take you to bed instead, princess." His voice held no mockery. It simply echoed the same sincerity that Hermione could see in his eyes. "Will you allow me to?"

Hermione searched his face. For what, she could not say, but she found it, and held onto it.

"Yes," she replied, her voice breathy and almost inaudible, but Sirius heard her. "Yes, please… _Charming_ …"


End file.
